


McCoy's Laments (incomplete)

by StJason



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:41:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StJason/pseuds/StJason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Starfleet Academy, McCoy envies Kirk's easy way with the ladies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This muddled mess is still being written as time and inspiration hit me... Apologies.

    He noticed it on the very first day. Kirk had that... something. N'kurika Odolono noticed it too. And Alice White. Janet Fielding, Aiko Hatarake, and probably a dozen others too. Heck, from a few of the speculative looks from a couple of the boys in class, it wasn't just the girls who noticed. It wasn't just his boyish good looks or general self confidence... Cadet Kirk had a certain... air. Call it charisma. Call it magnetism. Whatever it was, it instantly made him the center of the room in a way that Leonard McCoy would never be.  
    “Dammit” he muttered to himself. He always had something like this in all of his classes. There was always someone who was brighter, or quicker, and defiantly better looking to the girls. He touched the control on his pad, and his own image appeared. He wasn't bad looking... just... not that remarkable. Maybe he'd go by “Leo” for this class, he thought as he turned his head to get his 'good' side. Really not much better then the other side. No. Leo still sounded like... she said it.  
    Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing. He had a practice... was a good doctor. He could get a position in any of a thousand hospitals on a dozen worlds...  He chuckled to himself. Classic symptoms of a recent divorcee facing his midlife crisis... so go off and join Starfleet. Well, anything to keep him busy...  
    Class was dull. The teacher fawned over Kirk. No surprise there. He hurried off to his next class, but not before hearing Janet Fielding mention to her friend something about going to the Last Passage that night. Well then... maybe he did have plans that night after all...  
  
    The Last Passage was the student bar on campus. It was, like all of them since probably the Mesopotamians was dark, not particularly clean, and featured bad food and cheap drinks. It featured the glow-panel tables that were popular twenty years ago. McCoy found himself chocking down a whiskey that was definitely not the bourbon that he actually had come to like, and was only charitably describable as whiskey. There was a group of engineering students in one corner studying... something about warp nacelles. Other groups of students talked or sometimes made attempts at studying. There was a couple of girls from the Communications school at the bar trading phrases in what sounded like Klingon. He kept an eye on them. The old rumor about the Communications school was utter bunk, but you never really knew... stereotypes had a basis in fact... right? There were three different games on the vidscreens around the bar. Local teams, not the Athenian Oilers that he sometimes still watched.  
    He felt old. He had almost a decade on most of the people in his bar. He wasn't entirely sure what he expected tonight. Honestly he should be going over the books for classes this term, but honestly sitting in the dorm quarters just seemed too small and constrained. Oh, what the heck. He took his glass of.... drink... and gulped the terrible stuff down. Now he had an excuse to go up to the bar...  
  
    “Evenin', ladies.” he said amicably. He had been told a few times that his accent was nice, so let it out when he was trying to impress. They noticed too. The blonde smiled and her dark-haired companion leaned in and whispered something to her ear. After waiting for a few moments, he added. “The way they are movin' around here, you'd think they didn't want me around.”  
    “Yeah... we started at a table, but after being ignored moved up here.” offered the dark-haired girl, a faint Indian accent still present.  
    He decided to take a chance. Extended a hand. “Leonard McCoy. Medical.”  
    “Oooh! A doctor..” giggled the blonde before taking his hand. “Eva Moore. Communications.”  
    He switched gazes to the other girl. She smiled and took his hand. “Tanirika Hamaturabi. Communications as well.”  
    “But don't get the wrong idea.” said Eva. “Just because we are in Communications.”  
    “I wouldn't think of it!” he replied.  
    Just then, almost as if by cue, the doors banged open letting in the setting sunlight. A large loud group trooped into the bar, lead in by none other then James Kirk. Looking back at his new acquaintances, he noted that they had already turned to watch. Defeated before there was even a contest, McCoy took his drink back to his table.

Many, many drinks later, he became aware of a noise. He hadn't meant to get this drunk, but he couldn't quite seem to drag himself from the bar either. He had fallen into that strange reverie, where the liquor kept flowing, and he chased his thoughts around in circles in his head. He checked his glass... how many had he had? He wasn't sure.  
The noise turned out to be the sound of a bar stool being smashed over one of the largest men McCoy had ever seen. He was large enough to make him wonder if there was some other species then human in his ancestry. It was uncommon, but apparently if people of separate species were interested enough, and only with species with 23 chromosome pairs. McCoy wondered if a human with polysomy might be open to crossmanipulation...  
One of the members of the Piloting school landed on McCoy's table, ending his musings. With no drink left, and what looked like a very active bar fight developing, he decided to exit quickly out the back. He got unsteadily to his feet and began moving to the door. He needed to keep his hand on the bar to keep pointed in the right direction. Yeah. He'd had more then he meant. The door didn't open when he approached. It also didn't open when he waved his hand at it. Fighting off the urge to sleep, he examined the door closely. It seemed a normal door with a metal bar in the middle... why a bar? The answer slowly oozed out of the back of the fuzz that seemed to be resident in his head. He pushed on the bar and the door popped open... how old was this place anyway. Something smashed on the bar near him, so he quickly ducked out.  
That was a mistake. The smell hit him immediately. The waste disposal queue was back here. As well as enough accumulated grime that possibly predated the door. The smell smashed in his nose and immediately the drinks in his belly began to move back up. He stumbled a few steps trying to hold in his rebellious guts, but still lost all those drinks and further stinking up the alleyway. After the last few heaves, he rested his head against the stone of the building opposite. He was sure that it was covered with unnamable filth, and the smell was still horrid, but the stone was so very cool...  
Someone banged through the door. McCoy focused his tired eyes on the young man. The first thing he noticed was the blood. Superficial 8cm cut on the exterior left arm, approximately 4cm above the elbow joint. It didn't look like it was far enough to hit the superior ulnar collateral artery, but someone had better check before the idiot bled to death.  
It was, surprisingly, Kirk.  
“Can I take a look at that?” McCoy said, then winced as it sounded harsh even to him.  
Kirk chuckled. “I should have known he would have had a knife. Ow.”  
McCoy poked at the wound, and was worried at the gush of blood. “Welp. You've banged yourself up good. You've got a cut to your Cephalic vein.”  
Kirk suddenly looked scared. And very young. “Is... is that dangerous?”  
McCoy watched him for a moment. He was young... 22, 23? McCoy had a good eight or nine years on him. He felt older. Old enough to not get into bar fights, at least.  
“Not if we can get you to a flesh knitter and a couple of protein clips.” He stood and helped Kirk up. “Keep your arm above your head and your hand on that slice. We got some walking to do.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Incomplete... I kind of know what I want to do with this, but haven't quite worked out how I want it to go...

Fifteen years later, McCoy waited in another bar... disturbingly similar... He was drunk. One of those terrible, frustrating drunks where you keep drinking, and the rational parts of your mind kept saying "I should be drunk right now", and yet.. you never got that that fuzzy, detached feeling. Like you weren't drunk at all. Except then you stand up and for some reason the room keeps moving even though you are not drunk and maneuvering around barstools became embarrassingly difficult. There was a Trill at the end of the bar, reminding him of the one he used to know... years ago.. He briefly considered going over and asking, but with their... unique... way of continuing... did he even want to know?

He ordered another Bourbon. It was terrible stuff, but the best of bad options. He grumbled into his glass about Kirk always meeting him in the lousiest dives near the port... He set down his glass a bit harder then he intended. Dammit, Kirk! Where were you?

  
As much as he hated to admit it... he was lonely. There were times that he felt like his wife had sucked all the life out of him. But that was so long ago, and since then... a few dalliances, short relationships... nothing that really stuck. And even those only came around when Kirk was in the neighborhood. Damn him. He hated it. He hated feeling like he was gathering up Kirk's crumbs. And yet... here he was again. In another bar, waiting for one of Kirk's conquests sisters or friends or whatever. 


End file.
